Vernon's Assistant
by Me2468
Summary: In a world of preposterous facial hair, murderous glares and an awfully boring ex, Lily Evans will not find life much easier when one Mr. Potter begins to work for her brother-in-law-to-be.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"One may say the human mind has a range of emotions.

One would be wrong.

We as humans have three emotions.

Three.

At times, we may blend these together and imagine we can feel something else; something deeper.

However, we continue to be in the unchanged depth.

Were you not aware of this before?

Weren't you?

After all every colour is made of three. A combination of only three:

Blue,

Red,

Yellow.

Thus, that beautiful natural creation in the firmament, reciprocated by an artificial prism, is merely a confusion of three.

And how can confusion be beautiful?

The world is only confusion, a perplexity.

Only three, I tell you, three.

Blue of sadness,

Red of anger,

Yellow alone of bright and gay.

If a mixture of all colours leaves us with murky and disorientated as they do, together we must conclude that anger and sadness create death but only if one adds pleasure."

The man threw back his head, drew a weapon, prepared to slaughter.

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	2. Pasta Vs Pride

**Disclaimer: **I am currently not (or probably will ever be) J.K. Rowling so I do not own Harry Potter ... Or Finding Nemo

"And Mr. Gether said I am merely a fraction away to getting a raise."

My internal thoughts drowned out his speech and I continued to rotate my fork around even more spaghetti. Grinning lazily at the tightly wound pasta, I vaguely wondered if I could push the fork to the back of my throat, but instead decided this probably wouldn't distract him from the long, tedious rant (besides I wouldn't want words dull enough to rival Vernon's to be the last thing I ever heard). Maybe I should shove my fork down his throat; I could say to the baffled waiters that he was a professional sword swallower and I had merely thought that a fork was a very simple task compared to having a bunch of knifes cut up your insides...O.K, permanently put off all food. Stupid imagination, shut up now, no don't think about them writhing about inside him, eww.

But some word I recognised relieved me of my nauseating thoughts.

"Lily, Lily, were you even listening to me?"

"Of course," came my reply, joined by the movement of my fork from my plate to my mouth. "Something about Vernon?" Or at least that's what I tried to say however my jaws were packed with pasta goodness so it doubtlessly sounded like a walrus eating chewing gum (not that I am aware of what walruses sound like when eating chewing gum so blatantly I have NOT caused any danger to walruses... or intend to... neither do I wish to offend you if you are a walrus eating chewing gum, I'm sure you don't sound that bad. But let's face it, you aren't the prettiest painting in the Tate and you don't sound like a professional opera singer, really, I mean, what is that wail you do? ). Jeffery seemed to have got the gist though.

"Vernon? No, Grunnings. I told you about the big case coming up between Grunnings, didn't I? Honestly if you want to develop this relationship you're going to have to start listening to my work stories, even if they are boring." He grabbed my hands, putting me in a very unfortunate position since now I couldn't eat. Perhaps I could just shove my face in my dinner. I think I get what Petunia said about me being "unladylike". In spite of my families faint screams echoing around my head, I slowly slid my body down my chair and edged my head towards the plate.

Now, I know what you must be thinking or rather what my Professors would think; "Miss Evans, I find your manners absolutely appalling", "I predict that if you carry on with your current actions you will be devoured by a large plump mechanical bull on the other hand if you stopped the likelihood would be that a phoenix will steal your wand and _avadra kedarvra _you", "Carry on Miss Evans, as you please, an expert potioneer like you could whip up a potion to fix the awful embarrassment you will inevitably cause yourself", "Evans, I think you should leave now before you do something regrettable", "Yeh shouldn' go through wit' it Lily. Bin hearin' stuff 'bout wizards an' witches... can't come back from this stuff, righ'?", "Miss Evans, this is karma from going on this date. You still haven't completed that mind-numbingly wearisome herbology essay I set you on mandrakes have you? The one that even if you gave me a piece of work that was sent to you by Merlin himself, I would still give you a 3 out of 10 for some reason or another (probably because you cheated and got it from Merlin)" and Professor Dumbledore "Just keep sinking, sinking, sinking, just keep sinking, sinking, sinking AND REMEBER P SHERMAN, 42, WALLABY WAY, SYDNEY."

Yes... my mind is** that** weird.

Moving on, or in my case down. By this point by chin was barley an inch above the table. Jeff hadn't noticed, too entranced by the wisdom pouring out of his mouth with an easy pour spout. An elderly couple had noticed though and looked quite disgusted at me like I was dog conditioner (it's completely unnecessary, dogs don't care if their coat is so shiny their owners sometimes mistake them for their polished mahogany table). My actions are completely justified because Jeff was -hopefully- the one who was going to pay for my food and so therefore he wouldn't want his money to go to waste, would he? I ought to eat it before it gets cold, for he paid for hot food not salad. That scenario is like "Well son, I have just bought you a brand new car, top of the market, but you are only five years of age so I'm going to keep it locked in the garage until you can drive. That will be a considerable amount of time and by then this car will be old, highly unpopular and probably won't work. This means I have just wasted a load of money on nothing. When you have got to this age I will teach you this important lesson by buying a blind person a silent film".

My head had caught up with the rest of myself which had been staring directly at Jeff. "Sometimes I think you can go for periods without fully hearing anything I'm saying. What do you think Lily?" Good Lily, you managed to hear ALL of that sentence. Where the hell are the parading hippogriffs?

"Jeff, Jeffery, Ol' Jeffers, I was listening to everything you were telling me, really drinking it all in. Whoop." Some part of me doubts that he had heard even half of that sentence (dirty hypocrite) because his full attention was on me. A me who currently had her face directly over the top of her food and was balancing on the edge of her chair precariously. All that happened subsequently happened very rapidly. I stopped talking to Jeff and in a feverish voice spoke to my food instead. The intoxicating aroma approaching my nostrils little by little became too much and I shoved my entire face into the cooking. My chair, surprised at this sudden movement toppled beneath me, landing me on the floor with a plate of spaghetti on my head. Who reckons that my face was only half red from the sauce?

Jeffery stared at me. "If you would take a plate of this stuff over me, we're over." With that he stood up and glided from the restaurant.

Perhaps a better person then me would have yelled an apology except I couldn't stop the words, that made quite sure to make the few remaining people who weren't already staring at me, gawk; "You're still paying though, right?"

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	3. Stupid and Stupi

**Disclaimer:** I am not the owner of Harry Potter... Just like 99.99% of the population...

My father always told me to never call him father since it has the word "fat" in it. I asked if I could call him Stupid because it sounds like "stew" at first. Weirdly enough he wasn't as amused as I was. Strange isn't it; I thought he had nothing against stew. Perhaps I misread the way he continually shoved it in his gob. It could have meant he was trying to get rid of putrid acids that would otherwise have burnt through the bowl Petunia painted when she was five. My head turned towards my mother as I asked the question "D'you know that plate I painted when I was about 5, where is it?"

My darling mama didn't answer and continued to drive away from the restaurant. In the distance I could just see Jeff trying multiple times to start his own car, give up and kick it. Jeff was many things but strong was not one of them. Boring, yes, smart, oui, moderately tall, quite, a brown paper bag enthusiast, obviously, however strong, he was certainly not. Nevertheless I swear to Merlin, he caused much more damage to that car then that car has (probably) ever done to him. (If you are Jeff's car I am NOT calling you weak or a pansy except, you know, Jeff once tried to walk on a daisy and couldn't push it down).

I attempted to sit still in the vehicle but it's ruddy hard when I'm such a fidgety person. In the end I stared at myself in the rear view mirror and tried to be as vain as humanly possible. Understand that this is a very hard task given that I have the head of a giantess and the figure of a stick. I'm virtually a human bobble head, what with my constant bobbling.

O.K I like my eyes. Very green, like a fresh pickled toad. They are very interesting to be fair. Honestly what's better then green flecked with the exact same shade of green? Left you speechless there, didn't I? Take that.

But I don't want to fight.

My face is quite pointy. Well when I say pointy, I mean that if I raised my chin some people may have the first impression that I am going to stab them...with my chin... I do have better features, however. Like my almost unibrow. Quite endearing if I do say so myself (there was a point in time I didn't believe that and attempted to wrench them off with a pair of pliers. When asked why I did that I replied that I couldn't find any tweezers). They are made especially grand by the fact that they are a vibrant red similar to every other hair on my body. I haven't told you yet? My hair is so bright I think it scares off birds... Or Sirius is being characteristically mean (or "funny" as he puts it).

The only red thing I like upon myself is my lips (or Jeff's, wait no, hatin' Jeff, stupid Jeff, didn't even pay for dinner, the git). I have full lips, which, while it has many upsides, means that my lip liner runs out a lot quicker than anyone else's (though that might be down to Marlene stealing it constantly and writing my address on some very confused faces).

All in all I look completely unlike the women sitting adjacent to me who had a thin long neck, beady grey eyes, high cheekbones, deep chestnut hair and a quite solid, hard exterior. However when she smiled, every impression you could ever make of her sank into the big box we call "Stupid". Her faced relaxed, her eyes lit up and her nose, which didn't change what so ever, looked kinder in a weird way I could never explain. At that moment in time, she was the former.

In a desperate attempt to break the ice I repeated my question; "Where is that plate I painted 12 years ago? You still have Petunia's bowl."

When she didn't reply, I poked her, hard. With the reactions of a snake, she whipped her head to face me and said quite self-importantly "Don't use that horrid finger to maim me while I am driving." Dunno what she has against my finger.

"I just wanted to know what happened to my bowl."

"It...I... DON'T ASK QUESTIONS!" Neither of us spoke for an entire minute. I waited the appropriate amount of time before prodding her again. This time she pulled our car over and gave me her full attention. "We, your father and I, reached a mutual decision that your bowl was awful and threw it away. Don't look at me like that; it was a great source of embarrassment. Once, the Jordans came to our house and saw it and do you know what they said Lily? They said "Ailene, I didn't know you and Craig were into that business of getting a monkey to paint your crockery." That's when we knew it had to go."

"You kept Tuney's," I accused her rather angrily.

"Yes but Petunia's was nice. It fitted in. No one liked yours. It was only you who liked it." She sounded like she pitied me.

"MOTHER I WAS FIVE! I bet it looked great for my age group. You have discarded one of my most cherished childhood memories and you can only say that it_ didn't fit in._"

"Sweetheart," she leaned over and gripped my forearms and looked directly into my eyes. "It was quite pathetic for a five year old. Your teacher said that she thought you might have a couple of mental health problems, but, you know, I think you may just be able to carry on with your life. Besides, it had these abnormal paint streaks across it. What was that?"

"A rainbow," I sulked and pouted.

"Not really." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She grabbed my nose and found a bit of the sauce that I had forgotten to remove. While she happily licked her fingers, I bitterly hoped it was poisoned, no, no I can think of much more creative ways to kill my mother. Besides how would I get home; I had no money left for a bus fare in fact I had no muggle money at all. Mum had to bail me out at the restaurant. Stupid Jeff. I should really start calling him Jeffery now. What would he call me? Lily is too short and he would feel pressure to call me something longer since I would be using his full first name.

My mother's poke (dirty hypocrite) distracted my train of thought.

"Lily. I'm surprised that boy managed to keep you for so long. Honestly, I must have been talking since we left and you haven't heard anything I said, have you?"

_Grunt_

"Don't understand why he chose such an unladylike young women anyway."

_Humph_

"Listen, I'm about to tell you something that will blow your mind."

_Humm_

"Vernon is coming..."

_Huh?_

"Yes, for dinner and he's bringing his..." but she didn't get to finish her sentence because the ultimate pain from my arm was about to be put into shame when Vernon came round and damaged my ears permanently.

"WHAT! Mother, what on EARTH have I done wrong? Is it because I forgot to give that homeless bloke my change because drive there and I'll give him every penny I own (well, stop off at the bank first; I don't have any money on me) or is it because I ate Petunia's prized cupcake when she was 9. NO, you wouldn't sink that low as to invite Vernon round because I didn't paint that ruddy plate properly. IT WAS A RAINBOW AND IT WAS GREAT SO SHUT UP AND UNINVITE VERNON ROUND, NOW! I HATE YOU MUM, YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND MY ART AND PERHAPS THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'LL TELL MY PHYSIATRIST IN 10 YEARS TIME ABOUT HOW IMMATURE YOU WERE EVEN AS AN ADULT. AND YES I SAID WERE BECAUSE IN 10 YEARS TIME YOU WILL BE A WERE BECAUSE TODAY I'M GOING TO RAM MY FORK DOWN YOUR THROAT..." Then I ran out of words to say. Funny isn't it how words can just fail you when you need them most. I'm almost never out of words to say. Personally, I think I'm quite witty. Well done Lily, finally you managed to say one good thing about yourself. I reckon that deserves a medal of honour...or is it honesty? Oh Merlin.

"LILY!" a recognisable screech brought me back to earth.

"Yeah mum?"

"I thought you ought to know," she continued in a somewhat what calmer voice, "That Petunia invited him. It's not that I don't know that you detest Vernon in every way but I wouldn't invite him round just to punish you; your great aunt would go out of business." And the woman who birthed me gave to me the present of an uneasy smile. She didn't even wrap it up... "Anyway." (Sorry to have to bore you with more of this lacklustre speech) "Vernon won't be alone."

"I know. He has a stupid goatee."

"No. He's bringing his assistant along."

"Why? Don't we have enough dull people in this house? Does the name Petunia mean nothing to you?"

Her face turned back to _evil mode_ in less than approximately 20 minutes. But remember, I only approximated. It could have been 21. Her eyes fixed me with an uncharacteristically stern glare.

"I want you to be nice to your sister."

"I want, never gets," I reminded her as we pulled into the driveway and I ducked out of the car to avoid being whacked. Running at Olympic winning speeds, I scarped towards the door hoping that someone would open the door or my legs would take pity on me and slow down. When I say my legs were running at full speed I mean it. Blades of grass caught fire from the friction my heels were causing. The moment I realised I was in heels was the same moment I fell face first into the mud (what a coincidence) and slid a couple inches for good measure. Well bolognaise and mud is one of the chef's specials. Vernon's assistant, feast your eyes on this.

My mother laughed loudly which made someone open the door.

When I told you that conversation a missed a bit out: My father always told me to never call him father since it has the word "fat" in it. I asked if I could call him Stupid because it sounds like "stew" at first. He said that we were both stupid and asked if that made us Stupi. My father replied that one day I would find out the plural of stupid was. I never had the desire to know what he meant in view of the fact he had once told the plural of mistake was two kids. Until that moment I had only guessed what he meant but I now knew. The plural of stupid is having two pricks in your house; Vernon Dursley and James Ruddy Potter. One of which was currently staring at me covered in mud, brilliantly red sauce, hair full of pasta, dress ¾ of the way up my thighs, laying face down splayed on the floor and it wasn't the fat one...

Thanks you guys for reviewing whoo...


	4. Chair Uprisings

**Disclaimer:**I do not own any part of Harry Potter. My biggest achievement was learning how to input that horizontal line you see below.

Chapter 3 Chair uprisings

I have started writing a book entitled "All the way's to make fun of Vernon in such a way that he will not understand". Quite a good read, if I do say so myself. However this book is not for the faint hearted. It can only be mastered by a select few who are completely devoted to harassing the muttonhead A.K.A Vernon Dursley. No refunds if you find out you aren't completely concerned with this serious (Sirius LOLZ*) issue.

Please, don't be disheartened if you find the first chapter to demanding, even professionals find it hard to think of a particular insult. In fact just last year my father ran completely dry of all possible offences he could use. We were halfway through dinner and Vernon was saying some rubbish about this fancy, pretentious, puffed-up, snobby, patronising, pompous reception he had been invited to at work when dad said "I'm sure your suit will be fine as you're a man of impeccable taste and style judging by your..." and then he simply stopped. Like a fish out of water. The entire table held its breath as he tried to desperately grope for the words that were foretold to make Vernon seem like a fool and make the rest of us (except Petunia) snort into our food and mask our ingenuity. Darling readers, I must end this tale on a horrific note; the words, the words didn't come. I gripped his forearm tightly as he attempted to hold back his emotions. Though I rarely do, I wanted to cry for him; with him. He was so brave that day. No one knew what had happened. I personally thought it might be cancer in his Vernon Insults gland. Mum finally broke the silence that had swept over us by saying:

"Goatee. Your goatee shows how well you dress. I mean, it goes well with your hair. Tell us how you achieved this, Vernon." Then she mouthed to dad "We'll talk about this later."

Dad, however, looked quite put off. Though it looked like a two year old had scribbled on his face with a permanent marker, dad had never commented on Vernon's goatee, namely because dad used to have one.

Guess who else grew a goatee. Potter.

It may have been quite hypocritical of me, nonetheless the moment he opened the door I burst into a continuous stream of mirth. Potter stood quite still, with a completely straight face. On a face there is a mouth. Around Potter's mouth there was a forest of hair. The thing was that he hadn't yet styled his goatee in a fashionable way, pulled off by many an actor (or actress, I'm not a sexist), so therefore it was simply a very bushy moustache and beard with edges around his mouth that connected them (as well as not being sexist I have impeccable word choices; "with edges around his mouth that connected them"). These were also very bushy. All in all, I fell over and a werewolf opened the door.

Strangely enough, my mother thought** I** was psychotic. Couldn't she see the abdominal snowman in the door way? Did she not wonder why Dumbledore had dyed and trimmed his hair for us? Was the Vernon clone beyond her line of vision? Then again I was laughing pretty hard, which, in hindsight, may have misled her to have completely different thoughts to mine like: What on earth is wrong with Lily? Did I make a mistake having two children? Can I still sneak her out in the middle of the night and plant her in a ditch? I'd have the support of Petunia, and Craig would come round after awhile, now I simply need a ditch...

She should really learn occlumency.

Nobody offered to help me up. Potter stood stroking his newly formed moustache. Mum stood staring at the floor, evidently trying to pretend she didn't know me, the girl who broke the silence with her shrill laughter. I had to pick myself up in the end. This was extremely hard, since I couldn't look at Potter's face because I'd fall over, and I couldn't **not** look as I'd imagine it vividly and extend it in my mind which would result me in laughing myself to the ground. I did manage it eventually, no thanks to them.

If they had extended their hand, I probably wouldn't have taken it due to me being a feminist.

I'd have appreciated the offer, though.

"Lily. This is Vernon's assistant, James Potter. James this is my youngest daughter, Lily."My jaw dropped so far it may have cause the sewers to leak. In fact, right know Australian archaeologists should be finding fragments of my chin embedded, not particularly deep in their soil. I thought he was here to simply annoy me, but NO he decided to do something stupidly drastic; take a job where Vernon Dursley signs the check. All things considered I'm amazed my sore jaw managed to help my lips form the words that I am proud of myself for:

"Isn't there some excess facial hair you would like to introduce me to, mum?"

Potter saved me (not like damsel in distress save, like thing. I could beat the living hell out of any Hungarian Horntail I could ever be locked in a castle with) from my mother's rage.

"Actually, I already know Lily." That was the point I shoved my hair haphazardly in front of my face. "We go to school together."

"Why are you taking, ahh what is it you say... muggle job then James?"

"Yeah, why are you here," I said joining in the conversation. "Why on earth are you here? What reason could the great James Potter want a muggle job? Oh, I know. Thought you'd sneak round my house, did you? Well Potter," I flicked his chest "You can leave, 'cause I know all your little schemes." At this point I was rotating my finger in a circle right round his stupid nose. "Yeah didn't think I was going to realise, did'y'a? Got you all wrong, like, innit?" I go kind of gangster when I believe I have out smarted people. After those sentences, where grammar was already lacking heavily, I said some stuff even I don't understand. I believe I said "Brov" many, many times, plus I have reason to believe that the world "elf-en-ish" came out of my gob. Correct me if I'm wrong, except, that's not a word.

Potter had the good sense to interrupt my ramblings.

"Relax love; I'm just here for dinner. You won't even see me since you've already 'ad it."

I looked down at myself while mentally deciding that my top had " 'ad" it more than me. I had barely touched my food. Still I was fairly sure I could go without one meal or sneak down later.

My stomach had a rather different idea.

That's how I came to dinner.

Mum didn't have enough portions and apparently I wasn't allowed to use my wand in front of Vernon as it "creates an uncomfortable atmosphere", by which Petunia means Vernon would wet himself (I didn't particularly want to see this nor petrify anyone else with that awful image). I had to instead have a plate filled up with food my mother, father and sister could spare. Of course, Tuney retracted hers immediately when mum put it onto my plate, saying it wasn't her fault my poxy boyfriend dumped me before we ate (I edited out my not-what-I'll-be-teaching-my-children-manners in my rendition to Petunia). A rather stupid feat of hers that was simply to spite me; we all knew she was on a diet and would only eat about a eighteenth of her food anyway.

We had Spaghetti. It was even smothered in the same sauce that was used in the restaurant. Rather mean, Merlin. It might have been because I threw his chocolate frog card away. I HAD 8 OF THEM AT THAT POINT.

Moving on.

I swiped my seat early in the hope that I wouldn't have to sit next to Vernon, Petunia or, Merlin forbid, Potter.

Potter swiped his seat early to whisper a load of drivel in my poor unsuspecting ear.

Don't think I didn't attempt to edge my chair away from him, because I did.

I had to get away from his stupid black hair he messed for the fun of it. His dumb chin that took the Mickey out of my chin because his was completely blunt and could not be mistaken as a deadly weapon. His nose that was really straight (I cannot emphasise this enough, it was like a water slide... without the water... so basically just a slide) was annoying as it was perfect...ly straight.

Passing over the bridge situated upon the never-ending-pit-of-darkness-tunnel that is my existence.

I had learnt things from my experience. This time I didn't fall off my chair stupidly.

I crashed rather gracefully.

I'd have given it an 8/10

I'm joking. 7/10 at best.

No, dear friends this is my attempt at humour. I did not fall off my chair (or "chair"; if we start calling it ours we may start another war or the chairs may start an uprising and make us theirs. I am going to take this opportunity to tell/remind you that I'm a witch so therefore anything can happen. When it does, I have the place on Chairman to the executive manger chair. That's right; I will be taking the chairs' side).

Something worse happened.

I put my fork into the wrong dinner while attempting to not listen to Vernon, thrice. Potter was sitting next to me. Do the maths.

I shall not bore you with details because to be perfectly honest I don't know any of the details.

It's hard work not paying attention to Vernon.

Firstly, before I continue, I'd like to take the opportunity to explain that the reason it is so much easier to pay attention then not too is NOT because Vernon has abs or something. Do not think this is one of those weird romances where Vernon is incredibly hot so therefore I pay attention to him with extremely rapt attention. The reason that I try so hard to not pay attention isn't because me and Petunia are the best Sisters 4eva and eva- this means forever and ever for the readers that do not understand my lingo- and so I don't want to check out her sexy boyfriend. This is, instead, the tale of the unfortunate girl who had to sit at the table with the spawn of a tortoise and a whale (a turtle would be more likely to have a whale's baby though, you know with the whole underwater thing the whale has going in), a person who had the mental and emotional capacity of a ball point pen** (but like a small one, that one would nick from a bank or Argos).

Ooh, I remember a detail. This one took up most of my thoughts.

_Vernon shaved off half of his goatee._

Yeah.

I hope this doesn't make me responsible for the big brain explosion of '75.

_I'll blame the nargles._

It just occurred to me that you may not have fully understood the whole Vernon shaved off half of his goatee thing. I mean he shaved off his beard. He did not shave his face vertically, leaving half a moustache and half a beard (or a boustache if you will. It is better than 'meard'. 'Meard' has none of the minimal requirements you expect of a word. 'Meard' should slink back from where it came from. It could become a ruddy ashwinder for all I care.)

However I refuse to be a wordist.

In fact it was just at this moment of thought as I was up in my room lying forlornly over "bed", someone knocked.

Their knock was an annoying one.

***I hope that you don't find me informal but I simply had to write it because Professor McGonagall advised me not to write that in my N.E.W.T s and I thought that this would be an appropriate time to get it out of my system **

**** Interesting fact about death #1 100 people per year choke to death on ball point pens.**

**Hello fellow readers. I am very sorry for not updating sooner. But I shall try harder. I mean that. Thank you for your comments. However the next chapter will explain what happened at dinner. Now we have ventured deeper into this story together I believe it will get a bit more interesting. **


	5. Of Locks and Socks

**Disclaimer: **Like it has been for the whole of my life, I do not own Harry Potter... in real life.

Chapter 4- of locks and Socks

Not being the sort of person who can be bothered to do just about anything, it is quite a wonder I stood up to personally open the door to the stranger my door withheld the identity of. In hindsight, they probably wouldn't have been able to get in considering the amount of locks on my door. I shall delay you hearing about the rest of my tale by explaining them all to you now, (do not feel obliged to skip this part).

My first lock is the one that is in the handle. You know the one. It comes with the handle. There is probably some magical scientifical word for it like the lock is integrated into the handle. Or perhaps 'merged' would be fine.

I got it when my parents decided that Petunia and I were old enough to sleep in our own beds. She got to stay in that bedroom while I was moved two room to the left. Three days later my parents realised the size of my room and made me swap with them, meaning I was at the opposite end of the house to my old room. They had previously agreed not to let me or Petunia have any locks on our doors, especially since I was only 6 and ma sœur had just had her 8th. There could have been rabid donkey zombies who were attracted to under-tens with locks on their bedroom doors (the supposed explanation from my parents was _we wouldn't be able to get out if there was a fire_ but I believe there to be a deeper meaning). However as it was previously the elders' room, there was already a lock on it, which I was desperate to keep. I compliment them on their work, in all fairness they did put up quite a fight, but I won when I locked myself in the bedroom. Or so I thought! The dirty devils took it off as I slept. I retaliated by locking myself in their bedroom. The lock was back on within the hour.

You raised me well, Martians.

My second lock was added when I came home for the holidays from my first year at Hogwarts. Tuney had obviously been ferreting through my personal stuff. It was pretty easy considering that mum and dad had made duplicates of the key that opened my door and laid them in strategic places around the house in case of an emergency. So I brought myself an early Christmas present, a lock.

Upon returning in the summer holidays, I found she could still get inside. She not having made the same mistakes as before meant I didn't realise it until some very unPetuniaish pranks began and one of my letters from Severus Snape – which held some very ungenerous comments about her- went astray. I gave up when my shampoo held glue and my toothbrush was coated in a suspicious liquid. A third lock was added, this time so that one had to be inside to unlock it; I had decided that Petunia must be picking locks.

And then last summer Marlene brought me a lock back from her holiday in Japan. It was shaped like a baby's head and the key was a pacifier-dummy thing. Every so often the head wailed and the key needed to be put in (to open, one had to twist it left, right, out slightly, right, push it back in, left, left and then a 360 degrees turn anti-clockwise).

My fifth lock was handmade by me, because my mother dragged me to an arts and crafts fair last Halloween.

Now I finished boring you, read with more gusto behind the words.

Before opening all the locks I yelled "Put down your weapons," because you can never be too sure.

At last, I managed to open the door and my loving mother walked straight past me, whacking the door onto my nose.

Nose.

Nooose.

Nosee.

Nosse.

I digress. She turned to me in the most outrageous manner.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING DOWN THERE?"

Down there?

Down... _there?_

_Down there?_

From her manner I suppose whatever I did _down there _was _wrong, naughty, bad. _

I gave her my best *It wasn't me* face.

She gave me a look that clearly said _Die scumbag_ (that kind of looks like German when it's in italics).

I could have retaliated with my duck face, but I'd had that conversation before.

_If muggles could send howlers._

But again allow me to negotiate back to the topic at hand.

She pointed to my bed, which was to the left of her and to the right of me if you can picture that. Let moi paint you a word picture.

Upon entering my room to your immediate right there is a large let us call it an abstract collage thing that fills my entire wall. It contains everything my friends ever got me which could stay on a wall, funny cards, musical posters, large paintings, inventive yoga poses (in picture form of course), a flat vase, everlasting blades of grass spell-o- taped to the bottom, quotes from random people, wizarding photographs of people I don't like- with moustaches added to them- letters and one part has Chimaera skin magically attached (though I'm not sure I believe Marlene, even though she swears on Alice's life, her father and herself met and killed it in the Caribbean). Mainly, I'm not sure because her mother swore on Marlene's life that that was the summer she went to Antarctica.

To your right is my en suite bathroom, originally designed for mes parents. Meaning that I'm the only one who has this pleasure.

Yay.

In front of you would be my large window with deep indigo curtains surrounding it.

Awesome right.

*Insert sexy head roll to the left* and to the left of this window would be my mahogany (I don't know if it is but that's the only wood I know) wardrobe. With clothes inside, shock-horror.

*Join me when I say sex head roll to the right* and to the right of my luxurious window would be my dresser.

And then between the creative wall and the wardrobe is my double bed.

The rest of the room is the home to many strewn about socks and newspapers I have the intention but not the will, to read.

So when my mother sentenced me to my bed I had to do a sort of triple jump to land perfectly... messed up... on the floor.

Story's getting interesting now.

But I managed to pull myself on to the bed.

She in turn strode across the room and perched herself on an obviously unstable stack of papers. Here is where the difference between us is evident. Where I would have fallen, probably face first into my bra (not the one I'd be wearing, one on the wilderness floor), she sat straight and in perfect harmony with all her bones and surroundings.

Come to think of it, that's also probably the difference between me and the rest of the world.

"Sweetheart," she began. Her smile rather freaked me out. To what degree was this freakiness? Imagine Vernon and Petunia performing magic tricks to under 9's. Imagine Slughorn and Professor McGonagall sharing a bowl of strawberries and cream. Imagine me not embarrassing myself in a public situation. Potter announcing he hates quidditch. Black shaving off his hair. Pettigrew and Lupin wearing short miniskirts, leaving the marauders in a sassy hip wiggling way, arm in arm.

Yeah, that same degree of weirdness.

"Be nice to our guests. I asked Vernon round to get to know my possible future son-in-law, James was only there so that Vernon could get a taste of what he's like."

A taste?

Think about that.

Vernon tasting Ja- Potter.

Does Potter enjoy this _tasting?_

I'm putting this very _tastefully._

"But you can't," she grabbed my chin, digging her nails in, as though searching for Australia, "frighten them away. You didn't make a very _good_ impression."

Impression, I'd already met them both?

I'd seen Potter two weeks ago.

I mean, what?

And she knew it.

"Lily, honey pot," She dragged my face closer to hers, "the impression you set demolishes any good impression _I_set. These boys are colleagues. They'll be male bonding."

_Male bonding?_

"Talking about us," her words were becoming more confusing and snake like, "they'll be talking about _us._ How awful parents we are to have raised a child like you. I don't want to be mean." She withdrew her hand and patted me on the head. "But you were."

Me mean?

Maybe some offhand comments were made.

I wasn't mean.

I was perhaps the harsh truth in some cases.

Not mean as such.

Lily never meant to be mean. Lily only meant to hurt or emotionally scar.

Someone coughed in the door. Simultaneously my mother and I twisted to find Potter.

"Yes, James," she was all smiles again for the mutant alien.

"Get out," was my reply.

"I'm not in," he gestured to show that he was not yet over the threshold.

"I meant England at large." My mother clipped me round the ear.

"James, did you want to say something?"

"Oh, yeah. Thank you for dinner. It was," he pondered for an appropriate word.

I had a couple for him.

"Delectable, Mrs Evans" he finished.

"Oh, James, call me Ailene." She was fluffing up her hair.

This is where I interjected with "I'm not allowed to call you Ailene and I've known you for at least 17 years longer than he has."

Awaking from her trance, she leant back and whispered in my ear, "There are allot of things I'd like to call you but unfortunately that's seen as child abuse."

Touché.

"Lily can I speak to you?"

Potter?

My immediate reaction should have been no but my curiosity over ruled my hate, a feat that has never occurred before I assure you.

I exited.

"What's da problamo?"

He understood my lingo.

"I am going company bowling."

"Don't you make drills?"

"Yes but... we, Vernon and I..."

"Vernon and James sitting in a tree d-r-i-l-l-i-n-g." Nice high voice of course. "Carry on."

He seemed unfazed as he ploughed on. The git. "Have been invited bowling. With the other company. Because business reasons. You see... um," running his fingers through his hair nervously "Vernon's bringing Petunia..."

"YOU'RE JEALOUS AREN'T YOU! I can't believe I didn't see this coming. That's why you took the job. Five minutes in and you knew he was the man for you didn't you Potter. One glace at the walrus and you..."

"Doyouwanttocomewithme?"

I glanced around. "No, duh. Why would you ask me that when you know..."

"Not like that. We have to bring someone with us because, you know make an impression."

Merlin, when were they going to stop with the impressions.

"Does it have to be a date, can't it be a friend?"

"Well, yeah but..." digging his hands deeper into his pockets he looked down to the floor.

"Precisely. Ask Black to come along."

"Do you know what kind of impact I'd make by bringing Sirius. They'd all be there with their hot girlfriends while I'd be standing there watching Sirius flirt with the hot girlfriends."

"Hot girlfriends? They're drill makers. How pretty can those girls be?"

"You'd be surprised," he mimed himself with big breasts.

"That is such a male response."

"Don't blame my gender."

"Are you saying a woman would ever give that reply to a simple question?"

"Back to my original question, please."

I was still kind of bothered but channelled my frustration into this other talk.

"Get Petunia to set you up with one of her friends. None of my friends like you."

"No, I'm not doing that. What if they turn out to be weird or... weird?"

"They could turn out to be the love of your life. I have two words for you. Blind date."

"Don't be stupid Evans. It would be mean. I dunno if the blind can play bowling."

"Lupin, Pettigrew?"

"_Remus_ is on holiday while _Peter _would eat whatever is in the bowl."

"The bowl," I repeated slowly.

"Yeah you know, bowling, bowls, food goes in bowls, duh."

Now my internal struggle was whether to confront him about his offhand insult to Pettigrew, or ask him what he thought bowling was.

"I think you should go, Lily," my mother's voice came from her as she stood in her new position; just poking out the door. She gave me the evil eyes. "_Lily."_

"I would love to go with you P- James." I think my smile was just as strange and forced as hers had been.

I won't give you some crackpot story about why I've been late to update. The truth is I left my laptop at my fathers. Yeah, he's secretly Dorothy from _The wizard of Oz._ Sp the house blew away with my laptop and he's only just returned. With a pair of red shoes he seems strangely attached to.


	6. The Last Bowl

**Disclaimer****:** I own neither Harry Potter or The Lady Of Shallot, from which I have taken a quote.

Chapter 5- The Last Bowl (Theoretically, we have more bowls)

_Darling Marlene/Alice_

_I write to you with the grievest of circumstances. As I sit here writing this letter to you I am having to forebode the notion of spending three hours with thine enemy from the twelfth hour on the Sabbath day until threeish. This is apparently a business association bar I cannot help feeling utterly devastated at the prospect of seeing_ Potter _surrounded by pompous nitwits who have the sole purpose of being dreary and selling drills to equally pompous nitwits. My dire need to escape to Mexico has drastically increased since my last letter as well as my desire to mutilate_ him_._ _The aforementioned devil is presently under the employment of one Vernon Dursley, a thorn in my side, if there ever was one. This duo is the reason I'm contemplating brainwaves I have never contemplated before. As unfortunate as my situation may be, I believe our own force, this closely knit threesome, must realise that my conundrum is deeper then we could have... realised. The business of Grunnings is taking us to a simple sport I have previously acquired the knowledge of; bowling. The predicament we face ourselves with is that this is the same activity and venue we, as in I and You-Know-Who-But-Not-That-You-Know-Who-The-One-I'm -Currently-Referencing-In-This-Everlasting-Name, used to compete in. My plight is one I'll have to deal with solitary; here I acknowledge the fact neither of you two can help with me with this unpleasant circumstance. I am to attend this gathering with one James Potter (A.K.A World's largest obnoxious prick), who may or may not be referencing to me as his, dare I say, date. Thou dastardly devil hath fallen upon thy (really no idea what I said there__)._The mirror cracked from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

_And may I say the almighty drawback in this, apart from those I have formerly mentioned, is that the prime person has grown some highly unfashionable facial hair._

_On a happier note; FREE BOWLING!_

_Love _

_Lily_

_P.S. Broke up with Jeff. Git dumped with me because I fell off of a chair._

I copied one out to Alice and another to Marlene, in perhaps a vain hope to get two heart wrenching letters telling me they'd be straight over. From Alice I got:

_Lily,_

_Oh Lily,_

_You're so silly,_

_Silly little Lily,_

_Little silly Lily._

_I speak in Rhyme,_

_Not necessarily in time,_

_To practise my skills,_

_And end up better then Wills._

_Shakespeare got nothing on me,_

_He didn't invent tea,_

_Neither did me,_

_But nothing else rhymes with me._

_Lily, you Wally,_

_Don't want to end up like Molly,_

_Who eats cake every day,_

'_Course life would be better that way..._

_But Potter ain't no problem,_

_If he goes to Tottenham,_

_And maybe if he shaves,_

_And learns to surf waves._

_You know what I'm sayin' girl,_

_Give your heart a whirl,_

_You'll be surprised about what you'll find,_

_If you are veeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrry kind._

_I know you're pure,_

_He's gotta know that for sure,_

_Even though you try,_

_And...try?_

_Right after this trip,_

_Take a skinny dip,_

_Forever in your thoughts,_

_Re-organise those thoughts_

_And when you're done,_

_No one's gonna steal your bun,_

_Karma and moon and sun,_

_Love yourself Lils,_

_Only you will...s,_

_Nobody else does,_

_Godric, I'm joking love._

_But I know you're feeling alone,_

_Only there's a time and place to come home,_

_Take time back in the nest,_

_Together, forever, we'll rest._

_Oh no lily,_

_My, you're silly,_

_Ewes aren't as strange,_

_Deep though they range._

_Cars zoom past,_

_Are they making life last?_

_We have to keep moving,_

_Very fast zooming._

_And though I see it coming,_

_Ogle the song we're humming,_

_Naps are due for tomorrow, _

_Ogle others sorrow._

_Never believe what you're told,_

_Eddy didn't, his story is __**bold,**_

_At bedtime he stole a kiss,_

_Every time his wife was amiss._

_Remember he tried, _

_Anyone can try,_

_Tub full of regret,_

_Enrich your life don't forget._

_Friends steal and lie,_

_Old friends say bye,_

_Keep to yourself honey,_

_Was there, no money._

_Dumbledore eats rows of,_

_Fears and tears,_

_Stinging tears; singing tears,_

_Odd little Dumbledore._

_Oh, no we are almost through,_

_But now I tell you what to do,_

_Can you find the hidden message,_

_I have hidden in this...message?_

_Love _

_Alice_

_P.S. Really, Good luck_

I thought, like you must be, that even Alice isn't this thick so therefore the hidden message must hold some great secret, that she wouldn't want anyone else knowing. Alas, I still have no ruddy clue what she meant. So it was all down to Marlene to make my day:

-L

Tell JP to keep hold of the ball.

-M

I can say that both of these letters were unique and Marlene's letter came with a razor and some shaving cream, which at first glance is kind of offensive and at second glance as well. In fact if one took a deep insightful look at it, it's still quite offensive.

That was until I realised the full use of the full use of it.

Shock horror for you. Perhaps you are wondering, maybe you've worked it out.

I hadn't.

So it went on the floor.

But with a ruthful sigh I realised I really ought to tidy up in case Potter made another surprise visit.

Not that I cared what he thought.

So it stayed messy.

Gathering up every ounce of being-bothered-ness that begins departing my body routinely at half 6, I slumped down stairs. Potter had long gone but the magnificent moustached boulder had stayed to discuss something with Petunia. I say discuss lightly. By discuss I mean he rants on and Petunia twirls her finger in her hair, with her tongue poking out hopefully. However to my immense surprise it was not my feeble minded sibling standing sexily ahead of Vernon.

It was my father.

I doubled back to look through the door. There he was, clear as day biting his lip in a way a female may do in the hope of attracting a mate. Shaking his head as though to get a stray hair out of the way but secretly trying to get a couple more surrounding his face to cover his blush, that had arisen when Vernon had complemented him on his latest achievement.

In hindsight I probably just saw this because I'm a girl.

And we do this stuff.

Those of the female gender.

We do it.

But still, he looked suspiciously alluring.

Two choices.

Back away now, don't scar yourself for life. Potentially save yourself from awful pictures.

Or investigate.

I investigated. With my ninja like skills I ducked into the room and hid behind the marble island in the middle of the kitchen.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. I mean I'm all for it. I don't know if Ailene will like it."

_Like what?_

"I can't understand why. We are perfect," said Vernon.

"Yes but you know the old girl; stuck in her ways."

_Were my parents _up _to something with Vernon?_

I don't really feel comfortable discussing these thoughts about my parents, so I'll have to leave it to you to pick up these hints I'm dropping.

"We could do it without her."

"No, I think I want her there, or at least have her permission."

An activity my dad and Vernon could do _together_, but dad would prefer mum to be there because they were married. Perhaps something seen by some as cheating so dad would want mum's full support...

"And Petunia, will she be there?" My dad stuck up the conversation again.

"Oh no, wouldn't want her there." They both laughed.

Vernon doesn't want Petunia to know which I guess makes sense since Petunia wouldn't want her potential husband to be doing anything _fun._

I'm going to shut up with the hints, 'because even them are making me queasy. If you haven't got it yet, you're probably too young or nice to know.

Now, I may not like my sister, but I still felt an immense responsibility towards her, which is why I forgot my ninja training.

"I don't know how she'll react..."

"SHUT UP." I sprang from my hiding place. "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE PLANNING, HOW CAN YOU DO THAT TO TUNEY? AND DAD, TO YOUR DAUGHTER... OWW," because I had realised my knee was throbbing as I had whacked it on the island.

It ruddy hurt.

My dad attempted to rush to my side and help me, but I hopped, in what I hope was a professional manner away, resulting in my colliding with Vernon. Though his weight must be a great deal larger than that of the average person, my mammoth force knocked him clean off his feet. Like a domino, he fell flat, or rather would have, if the island hadn't been in his path. And, all in all, this wouldn't have mattered much if Petunia's prized bowl hadn't been placed precariously near the edge.

It felt like one of those movies where the main character is sprinting off into the fire to save the one he loves or whoever else he could be bothered to save. The bowl spun in slow motion to the floor. Vernon tried with fruitless effort to retrieve it from the fate it was about to befall. However he was on the opposite side and had to swiftly pull himself over the island to even attempt this impossible mission. Perhaps it would have worked if Vernon had been thinner and I had been taller, but as he moved over his fat, how shall I say this, posterior over the top, it managed to whack me in the stomach, pushing me into a rack of cups. It teetered before crashing to the right in front of my father, who had the good sense to also leap onto the island, distracting Mr. Walrus completely.

The bowl crashed, and drowned out the sound of the cups which immediately came after it.

That's how Petunia found us, sprawled randomly on separate surfaces. Where mum was I wasn't sure. What I was sure of was that Petunia and mum were going to blame me.

In all fairness, they had a point.

But I couldn't foresee the cups crashing.

And then the glorious notion dawned upon me; my wand.

I could fix this quite simply with a couple spells. My sigh of relief didn't go unnoticed. Standing up I quivered "Don't worry, Tuney, I can fix it."

She didn't seem to hear me. I shook off the clay fragments, while the boys followed her line of vision.

I turned to join them. The males hadn't moved from their respective spaces; Dad was possibly in shock and Vernon was probably too overweight to move.

Petunia had found the bowl. She bent over the demolished pottery and picked up the biggest piece, about as large as a man's thumb.

"It's O.K. Tuney, I can fix it." My hand flexed towards my wand.

"Don't." Her voice rang out, echoing off the walls. "Don't touch it." Turning her entire head at me she spoke again, "Don't use your, your, weirdness, as an excuse." She was sneering at me but her shoulders had sunk. "Just leave it Lily."

Somehow her use of my name acted as a stimulant. "I was only trying to protect you. They were planning something."

Evidently torn between pointing out she doesn't need me to protect her, finding out if my accusations were true and storming out of the room, Petunia remained silent.

"Honey," Dad spoke up, "What did you think we were doing?"

I didn't really want to say it here, or anywhere, especially now, where the heat of the moment had vanished and my conspiracies sounded outrageous. On another spur of the instant, I asked the question back to them. "What were you planning?"

Dad gave a half glance towards the middle of the island.

I'm perfectly entitled to blame him.

Of course the rest of the family blames me for asking.

But in that half glance, Petunia and I both saw what we had missed with the ruckus.

A velvet box, half opened. Inside, an engagement ring.

For an entire moment we said nothing to each other. My heart beat quickened severity in such a short space of time I felt sure it was to burst forth from my chest. Quite in an opposite, Petunia drained of colour, leaving her face abnormally frozen. We may have been the only one affected; Vernon certainly looked ready to talk to us, but perhaps some human-like feeling had struck his heart so he didn't wish to break the moment of silence. And then as though awakening from a trance, I turned around and run upstairs, Petunia following close on my heels, at one point her fingernails scratched my wrist. A loud bang told us the front door had closed; either Vernon had left or Mum had arrived. Hesitation of her part gave me a good head start and I managed to get into my bedroom and lock it the whole five times.

"LILY." The door took an almighty force that possibly emanated from her foot. "I HATE you." I imagined her pressed up against the other side, hammering with her fists. "GET OUT YOU _COWARD_."

I couldn't really be a coward.

I was a Gryffindor.

I wasn't particularly afraid of how Petunia would hurt me, I had my wand.

What was I running away from then?

I strode back over and started unlocking the door. The second it swung open, I used a brute force to close it.

I was running away from hurting her.

"GET OUT LILY. I hate you. I HATE you." She sounded strained. She was starting to sob. Another voice joined in.

"Come on Petunia. Let's go." Dad's calm voice, soft yet somehow drowned my sister's cries of frustration. "Tuney, Tuney. Vernon's gone. Let's get some tea." By the sounds of it he was struggling with her.

"LET ME GO. Let me...go." Giving in, Petunia uttered no more intelligible words.

"Lily." He was only speaking to me now. "You can't hide in there forever." It wasn't a threat, just a fact.

They left.

I took out a note pad and a quill.

-A

What's the earliest you can get here?

-L

Perhaps I should have felt worse that I ruined my sister's engagement, any chance we had to reconcile, my relationship with Jeff and destroyed my favourite top with mud and pasta sauce.

Perhaps I closed that part of me off.

The part where I care about how my clothes look.

Let us not kid ourselves.

I doubt I ever had that department in my body.

But with my sister, well the best thing to do is shower.

(Not with her, just I, alone, shut up imagination)

_Wash that girl right out of my hair._

I, personally, make life changing decisions when i'm wet.

So, naturally, I showered.

And came up with a brilliant solution.

_Move to Canada; those people are nice. _

_But is that too obvious?_

_Perhaps Prussia would suit my needs better._

No, my actual decision was to let it die down before talking to anyone who knew of it.

_Except Vernon, can't pass up an opportunity to insult that insult to humanity._

_Though, I really shouldn't deserve that luxury_.

However, any idea of changing my second plan was driven out of my head when I began, showing emotions; crying. This is all rather ironic when you are wet.

"Come on, Lily, you don't want to cry about this. It's just Tuney, just Tuney. Oh Merlin, its Petunia."

After that it was all very emotional. When I say emotional, I mean I squirted a bottle of shampoo down the drain, imagining it to be her eye.

Highly emotional.

The following morning I woke to a tumultuous shaft of light peeking through my curtains. My not-so-silent fight with myself ended in me pulling the covers atop me so I wouldn't have to close them.

Somewhere below me the door opened.

"Lily, James is here."

Oh ruddy hell.

**Bonus point to whoever can work out Alice's secret message.**

**The poem was written awfully so the message would be clearer. Any guesses?**

**Clue: 10 words long**

**Clue 2: First word is I**

**Clue 3: Message starts on 7****th**** verse**


	7. Australia and Madagascar

Chapter 6- Australia and Madagascar

_Crap, Potter._

The messy haired prick had arrived, perhaps crossed the threshold into my abode, maybe was politely refusing a cup of tea courtesy of my mother. He could be tainting the furniture, pushing mud into the carpet I would have to then clean. It was, in fact, quite possible he was discussing mildly-dull topics of news with my mother's counterpart. Plucking hairs from his beard in the nicely polished mirror. Being cold-shouldered by a Vernon-awaiting Petunia. Messing up his hair so it looked stupider then the norm. A world of possibilities of what the handful of people could be up to down stairs.

However, this did not stop me from sprinting out of my bed, throwing open the doors of my wardrobe and forcibly pulling clothes upon my body. I jumped down most of the stairs, landing spectacularly.

"Excited to see me, love?"

"Not in the slightest, I just wanted to start so we could get the painful part over and done with," I responded sweetly.

We tightly squeezed in Vernon's miniature car (though I could have found some other method of travel, even cart wheeling to the bowling alley would have been preferable). He didn't seem the remotest bit joyful about me spreading mud into the floor, nevertheless he struck up a happy enough conversation with Potter, regarding drills.

"Here's a fun fact about drills," began Vernon "the first electric drill was invented in Australia. Funny, I always thought they served no purpose. Strange accent and a strange disposition to Kangaroos, while I'm at it..."

Perhaps to stop Vernon from his stream of racist comments, Potter intervened. "Australians exist?"

Or perhaps he is just that thick.

V-dawg almost crashed into the car in front. He turned his entire body to face Potter before yelling to the heavens "OF COURSE AUSTRALIANS EXIST. THEY ARE THE IMBECILES THAT INHABIT AUSTRALIA."

This obviously hadn't distracted Vernon from his apparent hatred of Australians. Potter tried a different approach. "AUSTRALIA, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? IS IT NEAR THE MOON?"

I decided to add myself into save the Australians from further insulting comments (hear that, my friends from down under; it's all down to me). "Vernon, you can't make places up. There's an _Austria_ and _Australasia _but who on earth ever heard of a place called 'Australia'. That's absurd."

Once again, Vernon stopped the car violently, causing some very enthusiastic car horns to rage out. But this time it was Petunia who whirled around to yell at us. "LILY," she ran out of words to say and settled instead for an obscene gesture. I returned it at her seat.

We drove the rest of the way in uneasy silence; not awkward, just uneasy.

Vernon kept muttering under his breath about, well everything. I have taken the liberty to compose this small poem concerning all the things Vern whines about:

From birds, to bees,

To giants, to trees.

From scarves to hats,

To large winged bats.

Vernon moaned and whinged,

Probably became unhinged,

I was bored all the while,

Petunia drank in the bile.

Potter stared in wonder,

As the car sounded like thunder,

It's a very muggle way,

But we don't have all day.

Vernon groaned on and on,

From sweets and bon-bons,

To motorcyclists

And icicle- lists.

That was my poem.

But we arrived marginally peacefully, a small stumble from me, but, of course, that can't be avoided, what with my clumsiness.

We walked in to the rather grand bowling alley, and, what with my luck, the one thing I was dreading, took place.

"Hey, Lily, hey. EVANS. What is this," Potter's voice was faltering as he pointed up at the picture.

"That. That's a picture of Snape."

"Yeah, well, I kinda worked that out, Evans. But... um...what's it doing here?" He scratched the back of his head, and laughed, forcibly.

"As if I'd..."But I was cut off by the manager hurrying over, with a cleaning rag.

"DO NOT TOUCH THE PICTURE," he managed to yell while dusting the portrait; a feat, quite impressive since he was rather small and the frame was level with Potter's head. "MISS EVANS," he continued to exclaim, from his surprise. "I haven't seen you since you were the same height as me."

"Yes, I've been meaning to come back but..."

"Excuse me, but could someone tell me, what the ruddy hell Snivellus is doing here?" Potter, the rude otter, cut me off.

The manager, Timothy, seemed confused. "Snivellus? The man you see here before you is Severus Snape, Ultimate Bowling Champion."

Someone could have hit James Potter in the face with a frying pan and he still wouldn't have looked quite as traumatized as he did at that moment.

In fact, I think we ought to test out my theory. In the name of science, naturally.

His mind went over the words, _Severus Snape, Ultimate Bowling Champion_. I saw his eyes fill with desperation. I saw them look into my own. I saw his mouth forming words I had to hear to understand. "Tell me it isn't true."

I shook my head sadly.

"But, but, how?"

"Oh," Timothy rejoined the conversation, "Miss Evans and Mr. Snape used to come here all the time, day and night, Winter through to Summer, from evening to noon, twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Just bowling. Unless they were doing something else..." he raised his eyebrows suggestively. Potter looked horrified, as if I had personally betrayed him. "Yes, Miss Evans, I remember you flirting..." cue Potter's face of shock horror, "With our interns. And Mr. Snape always had a soft spot for the systems manager."

Potter laughed out loud, utterly relieved that my escapades with Snape hadn't gotten any further then he had previously expected.

"Where is he, anyway? I had a bet on that the pair of you would end up together."

"WELL, they are not together. He's a swine and a," he searched, perhaps, for another negative term that did not include any vulgar language. "_Hooligan_! And I hate him. And Lily hates him, don't you Evans." He turned to me for support.

Timothy looked stunned. Always the one to believe what he was told, he replied "No, really? What happened? I suppose he did always have that sort of menacing aura. Still, the Ultimate Bowling Champion a, what was it, swine?"

"Yep," Potter replied, agreeing with himself.

"And you Miss Evans, you believe he is a hooligan."

"Is Hooligan really the correct word? I mean, hate him strongly, but not because he is a... hooligan. He is more of a sort of, um... I dunno, maybe..."

"SWINE!"

"I am using my own adjective Potter. He's a..." well i ought to give James potter credit; it's bloody hard trying to find a non swearing phrase to describe my ex-best friend. "Snape is a fat, pineapple-licking, idiotic-hat-wearing, lumpy freak," but the moment the word 'freak' graced my lips I felt immensely guilty, reminded of Petunia (who was now putting on appropriate bowling shoes with Vernon) so I continued with "ish, plonker."

The pair stared at me for a while, until:

"What an appropriate phrase," came from Potter's mouth.

Timothy also quickly recovered and said "But of course you are not with Mr. _Plonker. _I see quite clearly that you are in the love, with..."

"James." Potter exclaimed.

"Potter." I said, partly to make the aforementioned contain his excitement and partly to Timothy so he would know that we were definitely not on a first name basis. Unfortunately, he didn't appear to have heard me.

"That you are in the love with Mr. James."

"I am_ not _in 'the love'," I imitated, "With anyone."

"Ahh, Miss Evans, you cannot lie to me. You are in the love with..."

"NO...pe," my voice faltering as people's heads turned towards us."

"I think she's in the denial." I slapped Potter's forearm, while he and Timothy shared what I can only describe as a special second of agreement with one another.

"I'm gonna get my bowling shoes on." And I left the pair, fuming. I slammed my shoes upon the counter violently, only to find the bloke behind the desk was extremely attractive. So I asked for a pair of shoes in four and a half rather seductively. Hopefully it was my extremely seductive voice that stunned him rather than my sudden change from lunatic to attractive maniac. It took him a small, awkward pause to pull himself together and ask:

"We don't do half sizes."

"Oh." I tried not to let my disappointment show on my face. The greatest of life's dilemmas. Should I squeeze my feet savagely into a four or risk them slipping off and hitting someone in the face with a five? Perhaps it would hit Potter. My emotions probably did show then as he shrank back from me. "A pair of fives please." I winked at him in a sexy fashion.

He left with my shoes to find my order. He was tall, about the same height as Remus, with unkempt blond hair. The build reminded me of Potter, however I doubted Mr. Nameless had achieved this through endless hours of stupid quiddich. The only abnormality from his otherwise perfect outside appearance could have been his ears, which were small. Miniscule, actually. But I was willing to overlook that, the way he would hopefully overlook my dramatic first impression.

He arrived back with my shoes. "Have you paid already?"

Twirling my hair around my finger, I found myself saying "What do you think," I saw his name tag, "Michael?"

We stared at one another.

"I'm kidding." My smile filled my face unappealingly. "The Grunnings gang... is what I'm part of."

"Oh, O.K., what's the name?"

"Lily. Lily Evans."

He went to his muggle computer, before looking at me.

"Lily Evans is the name of the person working at Grunnings?"

"No. Oh no. I'll be under James Potter. But I'm his sister, see, not his girlfriend. I'M FREE." It was a quick exclamation so wasn't nearly as embarrassing as you would imagine it to be. Still, it continued to be awkward.

"I've got a girlfriend, though," said Michael

But my brain was saved from having to make a response by Timothy, who was standing right behind me.

"Oh, no, Mike. Lily wouldn't have been doing the flirting with you. She is in the love with Mr. James here."

Now it was awkward for Michael who thought I was some strange woman who had been talking rather stupidly, considering that she couldn't even go out with him as she is in the love with James Potter, her brother who had a different surname.

With my bowling shoes in tow, I left to find our bowling lane. It wasn't hard. I simply looked for the lane with the least excitement emanating from it.

Arriving with my usual grace, I straightened up after collapsing from a random low beam. Vernon gave me his usual disgruntled look, the royal 'stache rippling in disapproval of mon arrival. Tuney, on the other hand, barely gave me a peek. Potter, on the foot, had sidled over too me, probably finding us courtesy of his Lily-Radar. On the other foot, Timothy was hurrying away from me, without a backwards glance, towards his office.

Marlene's letter came back into my head as new arrivals, scurried over.

_Tell JP to keep hold of the ball._

Well JP was James Potter. The ball had something to do with bowling. AHA! Bowling ball. James Potter, a pureblood wizard would have no idea how to play bowling, as he had demonstrated last night in our conversation. The evil lily came out in me. Determined to impress, Potter would take anyone's help. I should just let him keep hold off the bowling ball and casually slide down the alley. On a positive note for him, the odds are he'd get a strike. That'd impress them. Whoever they were.

"Who are we playing against?"

Vernon wasn't remotely pleased to answer my persistent question but he did so after his indignation subdued "Hardget and Co.'s managing Supervisor and his assistant, and of course their respective partners."

Some deep memory inside me stirred at the name Hardget and Co.

"Are you the Managing Supervisor for Grunnings, then?"

Apparently, Vernon could only speak a few words directly to my face without a pause, so instead he gave a single nod and left to talk to Petunia about removing me from society.

As far as I could see there were only two people here who were not part of the Grunnings association. A rather weedy looking woman and her even weedier boyfriend or brother. But I, not being one to shy from social conventions, walked up to the pair and introduced myself. The male, I saw, had some stubble around his face. Not the attractive kind. The other kind. You know, the unattractive kind_. What was it about drill people and the need to grow hair upon their faces?_ And the woman had what looked like the beginnings of a moustache. _See, the drill people are at it again. What will happen when Vernon and Petunia announce their vows? Will Tuney's hair just start sprouting from her face?_

"I am Gerard." He extended his arm, presumably for me to shake, however his hands position suggested that he wanted me to lift it to my lips. "I am the assistant to the Managing Supervisor at Hardget and Co. I have brought my fiancé." He gestured to the woman who also held out her hand limply, so that I now had two to choose from "Geraldine. I have completed college, to the highest degree. I have a Ferrari but currently I have been forced into a mini due to social protocol. I have a favourite meat of veal. I always eat my greens and go to bed when I am told."

I have a confession. I made up the last two sentences. Forgive me. I did not make this up though. Gerard said "And what do **you** do, Lily Evans?"

I think my anger got ahead of me. After all who was he? I had done great things with my life. I was the one with a wand, after all. However I decided quickly to keep my temper down, and turned instead to Geraldine to strike up a conversation. Instead I stuck up like a match stick when she rudely replied (It wasn't that rude to be fair, but at the time...) "I believe Gerald asked you a question."

"Right." I turned myself to him. Either I could yell at him for attempting to bully him, or put him in his place. My mother taught me people don't like being lectured, plus the putting him in his place sounded rather sweet. "I grew up in Africa."

"You don't look very tan."

I gritted my teeth, "You didn't let me finish. I was born in a sun lotion factory in Africa. My parents left me there because of some international laws in..." My brain failed to give me a suitable African country "in Madagascar."

"There is no sun lotion factory in Madagascar. It would have been washed away by the floods." His dismissive voice spurred me on.

"Well this one was built on Mt. Madagas, O.K. It's in the middle of Madagascar. Shows what you know, doesn't it."

Geraldine spoke up this time "Well what about the awful rainfall?"

"Well it had a **roof** on it. I grew up alone and friendless on an island filled with loneliness and regret, fighting tooth and nail, just to survive every day. Eventually, I realised that my full life time goal was not to make Sun lotion, but to see the world. I swam to the coast of," and here my total lack of being taught geography showed so I said "mimblewimble" very quickly under my breath, hoping they'd believe this was an African country that resided near Madagascar. "I worked on the market, selling the surplus of Sun Lotion I had brought with me in my bag pack. However none of them wanted it, so I had to convince them it was foot cream. After gathering my wages, I pulled some strings to secure a ticket to England. Alas, the flight was cancelled, so I stowed away on a cargo ship. I was found, and was supposed to be sent back to Madagascar, when I ran away to a library. There, I learnt the basics of the English language and managed to track down my parents, win my hearing, learn the full use of English and went to school. Could you repeat your story to me? It was just too uninteresting to remember."

The pair looked rather stunned. Then they started laughing, so I left them to deal with their madness. Enough teaching for one day I think.

Potter ambled over to me carrying a bowling ball in his arms, stroking it tenderly like one might do to a cat or a rather ravishing cabbage. "When are we going to start?"

"When the Managing Supervisor gets here, Potter." I sighed, however I couldn't leave Potter as there was no one in this little gathering I liked. That does sound sad. I didn't even like Potter, but he was alone too so it only made sense.

"I think you made an excellent impression on that pair," Potter said, jerking his thumb at the GGs.

"Yes, well I try."

We both stared at the door anxious for the last late wanderers to come and complete our group.

I know watching the kettle won't make it boil any faster, or whatever, but we must have been looking for a mere ten seconds when the door flew open to reveal the Managing Supervisor of Hardget and Co. With a jolt, I realised why I had previously known the business. Jeff strode confidently towards us in deep conversation with his brother, Greg. He hadn't noticed me. My subconscious made the decision to jump behind the rack of bowling balls, dragging Potter with me.

"What are we doing on the floor, together, hidden?" Potter questioned.

"We will not be doing anything on the floor. I brought you because I needed an accomplice, but mainly because otherwise you would have asked what's wrong while standing u and brought attention to my hiding spot."

"Why are we hiding?"

"None of your business."

"O.K. I'll just stand up then, if it has nothing to do with me."

I grabbed his forearm, viciously. "You see him, with the blue shirt?" I pointed through a gap between two balls. "That's Jeff."

"Jeff? I thought you made him up."

Incredulously, I turned to him. "What?"

"Well, it makes sense. You only spoke about him when I was around."

"I talked about him plenty when you weren't there."

"Yeah, but I wasn't there so I didn't hear that. Anyway, are we not undercover?"

"Yep, so, Shut up."

We stage whispered our conversation.

Jeff began to approach us. So I, again, turned to Potter. "On the count of three we are going to surreptitiously emerge from the other side of this bowling ball rack and go to the, no wait you can't go into the girls' bathroom. Let's go outside."

"But it's raining out there."

"Well it's not raining in the ladies and it's your entire fault we can't go in." It looked like he was about to protest so I continued with "Are you a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?"

"I am a Gryff..."

"Onetwothree." Caught off guard, he was a little delayed sneaking out, but we could work on it. I saw potential potential.

We got outside without anyone noticing we were still wearing our borrowed shoes and mucking them up in the pouring rain. I chanced a look inside the building and saw the six peering around trying to find us. Hopefully, Petunia wouldn't refer to me by name. This wasn't too much to hope considering the amount of hatred Vernon and Petunia had within them concerning me. I doubted they'd sweetly sing my name in a lullaby so, fingers crossed, Petunia wouldn't mention to Jeff that I was here, or at least not by name. Potter shifted nervously from one foot to the other, possibly worried about losing his position and therefore his goatee.

I groaned and shoved myself against a wet wall. "I am in emotional turmoil on whether to confront or leave."

Potter, seemed to relax at my tone. "That is such a female response."

The words flowed effortlessly from my mouth: "Don't blame my gender."

"Oh, as if a bloke would ever say, '_I'm in emotional turmoil'_" he put on a high voice that sounded more like a half deaf squirrel then a girl.

"Aha! You just did though!"

"My awesomeness cancels anything inappropriate I say."

My mood changed slightly. "Is that what you think about yourself? Have you decided that whatever you do is fine because of who you are? That's disgusting."

His face stayed the same though. "Calm down love, that's not what I said. _I said what I meant and I meant what I said_. No added on bits from your interpretations."

"You know Dr Seuss?"

"Dr Seuss knows muggles?"

There was a fleeting moment of confusion.

"Anyway, you insinuated it."

Potter grinned. "insinuated. Insinuated. Insinuated. Insinuated. Insinuated. Innnsssiiiinnnuuuaaattttteeeeeeeeedddddddddd. In. Sin. U. ated. Insinuated."

He was either extremely smart or extremely thick.

My bets on the latter.

I removed my bowling shoes and gave them to Potter. "Give my shoes to Petunia and she'll pass them back to me."

"What?"

"I'm going home."

"Alone."

"Yes"

"No you can't, it's raining."

"So?"

"The path is going to be wet. I'll come with you."

"O.K. can you just give my shoes in? I don't want to see Jeff."

Potter went back into the building and I made a sprint round the corner.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Dr Suess. Should I continue writing this, what do you guys think?**


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